Drew Pickles Goes to Nearburg
by JohnnyLurg
Summary: Some plot elements lovingly ripped off from Woody Allen's film Blue Jasmine, in theaters now.
1. Chapter 1

"Don't take it the wrong way. My little princess Angelica means the world to me. It's just that—she watches too many cartoons. A little _Angry Beavers _here, a little _Real Monsters_ there, and it all adds up. Take it from Mr. Pickles himself; I never understood the appeal of half these little children's animated programs. I mean, I grew up watching _Blocky and Oxwinkle_, and I don't regret it. But that show was different. It took the liberty of presenting the threatening Cold War scenario and lampooning it before our very eyes. And the serial aspect of it was brilliant too. I guess kids these days don't have the attention span to handle a show that extends its plot for multiple shows. Well, except for my precious little Angelica, that is. My hairless ratty nephew Tommy, that redheaded, bedheaded Chuckie Finster kid, even those devilish twins, identical except for their earlobes—those kids couldn't even handle _The Dimstones_! My, my, what a world. That's why I'm glad to be away from the California suburbs for just a couple weeks, taking a flight to some distant 'burb, as the Carmichaels call it. Nearburg, heh. Quaint name. You know, it's been quite a while since I traveled anywhere. Charlotte's always away on her business trips, going to Brunei this day and Siberia the next, but the last time I left the country was way back in November, Thanksgiving Day to be exact. I know what you're thinking, how could I not do anything for so long? I mean, 9-10 months? It is preposterous, I know that. Like I always say, the years just fly by, don't they? But this is the first time I really realized what that phrase meant. And once you have that inevitable epiphany, it's heartbreaking, y'know?" Drew paused to take a gulp of Yahoo Soda before boarding his flight.

"Dude, I, like, thought that guy was, like, talking to me, or something!" exclaimed airport security guard Larry to his life partner Steve. Both men had been walking with Drew for the duration of his rant.

"Yeah, but then, like, he totally wasn't! He was, uh, talking to himself! Weird dude, right?" asked Steve.


	2. Chapter 2

"Drew, I'm Charlotte's attorney, Mr. Hershowitz," said the man as he calmly walked into the foyer of 53 Briar Street Place. Despite his prosperity, he had a charismatic voice which could easily soothe a working class hero. However, Drew certainly wasn't working class, and somehow suspected that he was not about to be rewarded for his heroism either. "I hope my visit didn't come as a shock to you."

"Not at all!" clarified Drew. "I mean, I am a teensy bit perturbed. I could have sworn I dreamed you up when my daughter was three years old. You look like the lawyer from my dreams."

Mr. Hershowitz gasped, becoming somewhat enraged. "Drew, was that a pickup line? I'll have you know, I don't swing that way, though Charlotte affirmed to me that you do, not that there's anything wrong with that. However, I'm afraid that your excessive affairs with extramarital men has had a negative effect on the life of your wife. Just about an hour ago, the Federal Bureau of Investigations paid an equally unexpected visit to your abode. I don't know where you were at the time, hopefully not with another man—by the way, Charlotte actually joked that you've slept with every male on Earth but Barney the Dinosaur—but your loving wife has been arrested. Insider trading was the crime they gave her."

"And you're blaming my private liaisons with expensive men for my wife's own illicit fiscal behaviors?" asked Drew.

"Mr. Pickles, do you mind if I call you 'Andrew?'"

"You called me 'Drew' just a minute ago."

"So I did. The mind works in curious ways when a woman's reputation is at stake, perhaps you will soon learn that. Mr. Drew, in my decades of defending clients, I have known many a woman in my spare time, and while it may have unfortunate implications, it seems that when a woman's husband engages in numerous affairs with other men, it has significantly more drastic effects upon the woman's career than if the same husband were to engage in numerous affairs with the opposite gender. Do you follow, Mr. Pickles? Do you yet realize what you have done?"

"I think I need a minute alone," said Drew.

"I don't believe you, Mr. Pickles! I highly doubt—and if I may be frank, Charlotte doubts as well—that you've ever spent a nanosecond alone! When you go upstairs, I'm sure some creep in a Clifford suit will be there to give you an undeserved golden shower! Go back where you came from, Drew! Or better yet, a place so isolated, so secluded from the real world that you'll never tempt the fate of such a successful, luscious, delectable fox ever again!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Angelica, sweetie, there's no reason to be upset. Listen, sweetness, these things happen to all mommies at some point, and as mature human beings, we have to make the best of these troubled times. Now, when my mommy passed on, I was quite upset too, and it's true her circumstances weren't quite as upsetting as yours, but I learned to handle her passing away. That's why I became an investment banker, so that every client I worked with would become worse off financially and emotionally than myself, thus rendering myself almighty king of the investment banking scene!"

"But—But, didn't Chuckie's daddy report you and—and have your certification taken away?" wept Angelica, yanking her golden pigtails in stress.

"He did, and that's just a fact of life that I will one day have to come to accept. What with my second career as an accountant failing, and my current unemployment—I'm not even working out of the home anymore, for Christ's sake—forgive me, Lord, as I have blasphemed Thy hallowed Name—where was I, hoo boy—lost my train of thought—it's been almost ten months since 'Drew Pickles Goes to LEGO Island,' really?"

"Daddy, you're rambling again. It's beginning to scare Cynthia," whined Angelica.

"I'm sorry, I know how much Cynthia loves it when I speak coherently and don't slip into never-ending sentences of rage and hate-filled diatribes related to the fatal tragedy which befell your mother in the state penitentiary, those are what Cynthia Pickles hates, that is the case and has always been the case and will always be the case as long as my little princess Angelica plays with that wretched doll which was made from the flesh, hair, and at least two vital organs of innocent human beings, particularly one Melinda Finster…"

Angelica screamed like there was no tomorrow, and Drew considerately exited her bedroom without another word.


	4. Chapter 4

"Angelica ran away from home?" asked Didi as Drew sat down at his brother's table for coffee. "Have you consulted Lipschitz on this matter?"

"Charlotte and I have our own parenting methods, thank you very much. Look, I understand that this Werner Lipschitz is a German Jew, a Holocaust survivor much like both of your parents, Didi, but for God's sake—forgive me, Lord—that doesn't make him, um, omniscient!"

"Drew, Charlotte is no longer with us. Lipschitz occasionally sees adult patients, and I'd be more than willing to recommend him. It just seems that you've been in a state of denial about the tragic events regarding Charlotte, and as a parent, I just can't entertain the notion that this behavior could be healthy."

"You stay out of this, okay?!" barked Drew. "All I wanted was to ask you and Stu if I could live here for a few months while I try to start a career all over again, but no! Leave it to Didi to demonstrate her trademark inability to approach a situation without consulting that Teutonic twerp, Werner Lipschitz!" Drew spilled his coffee in Didi's face and slammed the door in it as he stomped outside.

"And people said I lost control of my life," muttered Stu Pickles as he approached Didi wearing only his underwear.

"Stu, it makes me feel uncomfortable when you don't wear clothes around the kids," said Didi, holding up their perpetually infant son Dil as Tommy snickered in glee.


	5. Chapter 5

"Howdy, newcomer! Rabbit's the name!" said a formally dressed citizen of Nearburg as he extended his slime green palm to shake the hand of Drew Pickles.

"Rabbit, eh? That's quite the name. I'm Andrew J. Pickles, sextillionaire! I own a mansion and another mansion!"

"Funny, I don't smell a cent on you. We rabbits have keen senses of smell, you know, though it is unfortunately overshadowed by our superior sense of hearing. What is your primary means of employment?"

"I recently got a job at the Octoplex back in my hometown. Somehow I doubt your means of employment is any more impressive."

"Actually, as a matter of fact, I fill every authority position in Nearburg, isn't that something? But I'm sure I can give you a little slice of salary, probably as a minimum wage slave at Taco Depot.

"Let's get those tacos rolling!" exclaimed Drew. "I haven't got all day, y'know!"

"Oh, you're going to have all day, honey," said Rancid. "The only way you're getting this job is if you promise to make my rabbit rancid for an entire year. Leaping lumbago! What, what, _what_ kind of animal are you, anyway? You look almost—human."

"What is this, some kind of yiffing hell? Of course I'm human, just like you and everyone else, I'm just conservative enough to dress like a human being."

"Those eyeglasses went out with the nineties, sweetheart," said Rancid. "If you're a human like you say you are, Nearburg law requires that you dispose of all articles of clothing. True, this might pose some difficulties with Taco Depot as you'll violate their first two regulations—you're lucky you're no CatDog—but it's nothing a long roll in the hay with Mr. Depot won't solve."

A humanoid of a slightly darker shade of green approached Rancid. "Mr. Rabbit, I am going to have to quit my job at Taco Depot," the creature said in a sunless monotone. "I finally figured out how CatDog goes to the bathroom, but they happened to do it in a pair of chimichangas I was saving for my lunch break."

"See, in Nearburg, it all works out in the end!" said Rancid. "Mr. Sunshine, just out of blunt curiosity, you wouldn't happen to be a _human_, would you?"

"I am but a ring-tailed lemur," spoke Mr. Sunshine, and promptly wandered off.


	6. Chapter 6

Drew lit a cigarette as he and Rancid reclined in the Rabbit residence's queen-sized bed after a few rounds of coitus.

"Now I know what people mean when they say 'let's do it like bunny rabbits!'" said Drew.

"Do they really?" asked a puzzled Rancid. "I'll tell you who really does it well, Nearburg's anchorman, Randolph Grant. Turn on the TV and tell me if that ravishing Randolph doesn't turn you on."

Drew flicked the power button on the remote control, which was located on his nightstand next to a dog-eared copy of a novelization of _Reptar Redux_. He wasn't even a fan of Reptar, but he found reading to be essential for a long flight such as the one he had just embarked upon and this was the only budget-priced piece of so-called literature which was sold in the LAX airport's countless stores.

"My, that Randolph sure _is _savory!" remarked Drew as he began to drool over the mustachioed burnt sienna feline who read the evening news with an aristocratic British urgency, peppering his intrepid statements with the adorable vocal tic "and I love it!"

"And I love you," murmured Rancid dreamily.

Drew shrieked like a tomcat. "How could you? I thought our relationship was special! You know, you really are rancid, Rancid! You are rotten as well! I had plenty of affairs when I was married, but I never claimed to _love_ a single one! You're just like her, you know that? The second she told me she was in love with Jonathan, I reported her to the FBI for insider trading, just like that!"

"I never claimed to love you," said Rancid. "You agreed for us to fuck daily so that you could keep your job at Taco Depot. And now you're fired. Get out of my house, you filthy human, and take your Japanese dinosaur comics off my nightstand!"

Drew stood outside Rancid's house, his erect penis slowly flapping in the cold wind before shrinking to an infantile size. It was then that Charlotte Pickles emerged from her black Ferrari, looking seductive as ever in leather and mink, though her cell phone was nowhere to be seen.

"Want to go for a ride?" asked Charlotte, licking her pretty lips at the sight of Drew's reemerging cock (which she had once nicknamed "Screw Pickles"), as the organ swiftly grew to its maximum length of 2,000 light-years in affirmation of his long-lost wife's statement.

"That's funny, Screw Pickles never reacted that way to my luxurious bod while we were married," she commented as the couple drove off, leaving Rancid Rabbit's house for good.

"I think the existence of furries was enough to save our marriage," said Drew. "Charlotte, I'm glad we're still together and you didn't hang yourself in a penitentiary cell."

"Charlotte's long gone," the blonde said breathily, unleashing her platinum blonde locks upon leather car seats. "It's me, Didi, your sister-in-law, driving you to the mental institution upon strict orders from Dr. Lipschitz. Well, actually, I'm going to make a brief stop at my house to _clothe _you. I knew you hadn't been well, but—this was a surprise."

Drew made one last glare at Nearburg, which he now recognized as a ghetto neighborhood he had once gotten lost in while he was taking investment banking classes at USC, and turned back to look at Didi, whose frumpy appearance made him permanently lose all desire for women, much like before. One minute later, he thought he saw his runaway preteen daughter Angelica standing outside the projects with two urban delinquents who in his opinion vaguely resembled Buster and Edwin Carmichael, but the entire car ride was too much of a blur for him to be sure.


End file.
